


an end (but the start of all things that are left to do)

by peacefrog



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birthday Smut, Cologne, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: Eliot passed a box across the kitchen counter. “Happy birthday, Q.”





	an end (but the start of all things that are left to do)

**Author's Note:**

> Set three months post-season 4 finale. And when I say season 4 finale I mean the REAL finale in which Q lived and Julia retained her agency and Quentin and Alice decided to just be friends.

Eliot passed a box across the kitchen counter. “Happy birthday, Q.” 

Quentin looked up at him with a smile. It had been three months since the Monster had gone, and sometimes he still couldn’t believe his eyes. Eliot was alive. Eliot was safe. Eliot was in control of his own body. Eliot was watching him over the counter with soft eyes and an expression that said _open your damn present already._

The box was made of dark wood with a tarnished silver latch. The wood was unvarnished and looked ancient, twisted still with knots from the tree that gave its life to make it. The latch groaned wearily when he flipped it open, as though it had been resting, and here Quentin was waking it up after all this time.

Nestled within the faded purple velvet interior was a cut-crystal bottle filled with a deep amber liquid. It looked like whiskey. Or poison. Quentin could feel something coming off it, something equal parts chaotic and calm.

“It’s cologne,” Eliot spit out, and then rubbed at the back of his neck. “I, uh, wanted to try a spell. I was rusty so—”

“You made me magic cologne?”

Eliot was actually blushing, high on his cheeks in a way that made him look younger and more vulnerable than Quentin thought he’d ever seen. “I made you magic cologne.”

“What’s it smell like?”

“Well.” Eliot pushed away from the counter, rounded to where Quentin stood and plucked the bottle up from the box. “Why don’t we just find out?”

They’d been dancing around one another for three months. Quentin had thought it would be different, or at least he’d hoped it would. After he and Alice had decided they were better as just friends, and she went off with Kady and a freshly god-powered Julia to traipse around the multiverse exploring new worlds. He’d hoped. When Margo and Fen and Josh went back to Fillory and suddenly it was just the two of them all alone in the penthouse for weeks on end—

There had been a hope. 

But mostly there had been quiet, and an ease, even if they avoided touching one another at all costs most days. Lazy evenings spent watching TV side-by-side, eating dinner on the couch with their knees just a hair away from knocking together. They would say goodnight and go off to their separate rooms in the home that felt suddenly too big for two people who were still walking around with memories of a time when they’d spent fifty years together in a cottage the size of the penthouse’s kitchen.

But now Eliot was coming up behind him with the bottle of cologne. There was a bright, tinkling sound when he pulled off the top, and then the cold shock of something delicate dragging down the side of Quentin’s neck. The heavy scent of cedar wafted up from the line Eliot had trailed with the dabber.

Eliot ghosted his nose up Quentin’s neck and inhaled deep. “It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

Quentin gripped the edge of the counter as his pulse began to pound. “I don’t know. I think I could smell it better if you…” Quentin turned around, turned his hands upward, exposing his bare wrists beneath the cuffs of his shirt. “Maybe try it here?”

Eliot swallowed. The blush had grown on his cheeks to full scarlet, and his hand trembled as he pulled the dabber out of the bottle again. He set the bottle down with a clink, took Quentin’s wrist in a hand that was still shaking and used the other the drag a cool line from one end to the other.

When he was finished he put the dabber back in the bottle and brought his nose down to Quentin’s wrist. The sensation made Quentin’s toes curl and his knees turn to water. It was like a kiss, the gentle drawing of air against Quentin’s tender flesh. In his blood a fever swelled. He had to press back against the counter to keep himself from tipping over.

“Smell,” Eliot drawled, and raised Quentin’s wrist up to his nose.

Quentin drew the scent in deep, down into his lungs. He could feel it pumping in his bloodstream. The scent of cedar gave way to something else this close. Something lighter underneath. Something that twisted itself wild and dark with each passing second. And there was another scent even further down. Quentin could taste it. Just barely. Pure cosmic energy. This wasn’t Wellspring magic. This was something much older.

“It’s beautiful,” Quentin said, his voice trembling a little. 

Eliot was looking deep into his eyes as he lowered Quentin’s wrist. “I’m glad that you think so. I put a lot of myself into making it. It’s arcane magic, really. Something ancient. I found the spell in one of Marina’s old books. The Greeks used to bottle this scent and gift it to their lovers.”

“El.” Quentin held the name in his mouth like some precious thing. It was a question and a prayer. “Hey.”

Eliot still held onto Quentin’s wrist. He gave no sign he intended to let go. “Hey.”

“Don’t.” The word came out a pathetic little puff of air. “Don’t tease me, okay?”

Eliot dragged his thumb over Quentin’s thumping pulse point. “I’m not teasing you, Q.”

“I want…”

Eliot stepped closer. Quentin could feel the heat spilling off of him. “What do you want?”

Quentin choked off the whimper that was threatening in his throat. “You. Fuck. I want you.”

Eliot used the hand not still clinging to Quentin’s wrist to reach out and brush a strand of hair away from his face. “I want you too.”

“I thought you didn’t. You said—”

“I was an idiot.”

Quentin let out a nervous little laugh. “Can’t argue with that.”

“Shut up.” Eliot released Quentin’s wrist and brought both hands up to his face. “I’d like to talk about that later. If you want to.”

“I do. I really do, El. What the fuck have we been doing?”

“Being idiots.” Eliot’s body shook in a silent laugh. “Would it be all right if I kissed you?”

Quentin nodded because he found that he could no longer speak. His lips parted and his blood pumped and the world around them grew silent and still as Eliot brought their mouths together. A thousand missing pieces clicked into place then. Quentin moaned happily into Eliot’s mouth, chasing after him when he broke the kiss.

“Would it be all right,” Eliot nuzzled his nose against Quentin’s, “if I touched you?”

“You are touching me.”

“You know what I mean.” 

Quentin nodded. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. Their bodies, their breath. The scent of the cologne had shifted to something light and electric. Quentin could feel it crackling delicately on his skin and in the air.

Eliot smiled and knotted his fingers in Quentin’s hair. “Would it be all right if I got on my knees and sucked your cock?”

Quentin drew in a sharp breath. He swallowed and nodded. It was all he could do, his whole body tensing under Eliot’s attention. “Uh-huh,” was all he could manage when he tried to form words.

Eliot pressed a kiss to Quentin’s forehead. “Good,” he said before pulling away.

Quentin reached back and gripped the counter. Eliot wasn’t wasting any time. He knelt down carefully, like he was preparing to pray, or to take the holy Eucharist on his tongue. This is his body and this is his blood. Eliot popped open the fly on Quentin’s pants and smiled.

“I’ve missed this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Quentin said breathlessly.

It had been so long. Though he supposed what they were missing had never really happened. But he could still feel it, still see it. He could practically smell their life in Fillory. It mixed with the scent of the cologne which had shifted again and made Quentin’s head swim. He played the memories on a loop. They were stuck to him like a film to celluloid. All those nights, so many years bringing each other such pleasure. 

Eliot looped his fingers into Quentin’s waistband and tugged, taking his pants and underwear down past his knees. With trembling fingers Quentin quickly unbuttoned his shirt and flapped it open. He didn’t want anything getting in their way.

Eliot smiled and ran a hand up Quentin’s abdomen. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Q.” He said this as he wrapped his other hand around Quentin’s leaking cock, giving it a stroke. “I think about doing this every night.”

Quentin shut his eyes and threw his head back. “I think about you when I jerk off in the shower.”

“Yeah.” Eliot stroked Quentin agonizingly slow. Root-to-tip like he was savoring it. “I do that too.”

Quentin couldn’t help himself. He opened his eyes and laughed. “You think about yourself when you jerk off?”

Eliot tightened his grip on Quentin’s cock. “Watch it, mister. I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”

Quentin gasped, laughed, moaned. Eliot shot him a hungry smile before turning his attention fully to the feast before him. His eyes so dark they were black, Eliot nuzzled against the head of Quentin’s cock, gave it a delicate kiss. Quentin released one hand from the counter and tangled it in the mess of Eliot’s hair.

Eliot lapped at the underside of Quentin’s cock. He was practically purring. He massaged Quentin’s balls and sucked them into his mouth. All the blood in Quentin’s body had rushed to that one central point. It was his lifeline now. The only thing anchoring him to the earth. He was dizzy with want. Sweat poured down the back of his neck and from his brow. He swore he could hear his bones knocking together from the force of his pulse.

Quentin was so aroused he thought he might actually explode. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Eliot nuzzled the head of Quentin’s cock again. “Oh no, Q. This isn’t dying. This is being alive. This is what life is. I want to make you feel good. Doesn’t it feel good to you?”

“Would feel better in your mouth.”

Eliot clucked his tongue. “So impatient. I almost forgot that you were like this.” He laughed. “And how much I love seeing you fall apart.”

“Fuck, El.” Quentin reached for his face with both hands. “Please.”

Eliot gave an exaggerated sigh. “All right. You don’t have to twist my arm.”

He smiled, and without missing a beat took Quentin’s cock fully into the heat of his mouth. Quentin scrabbled to keep himself upright. He gripped Eliot’s hair and held on, his blood pounding out a desperate rhythm in his ears. Eliot’s hand worked in time with his mouth. He was an old master at work, his tongue and lips and fingers all coming together to transform Quentin into his magnum opus. 

Each time Eliot pulled back and sank back down he took Quentin a little deeper. Always deeper. Always more. That was how Eliot loved. 

It was slick and filthy and perfect and warm, and when Eliot took Quentin to the root, buried him deep in the delicious heat of his throat, Quentin threw back his head and sobbed. All he could do was babble and let the pleasure come. Why had they waited this long? They truly were idiots. They could have been doing this all along. For weeks. Months. In every room in the penthouse.

Quentin made a mental note to do this in every room in the penthouse.

Eliot at least seemed dead set on making up for lost time. He moaned around his mouthful, gagged himself on Quentin’s cock until he had to come up for air, and even then he kept the pauses brief, working Quentin masterfully with his hand before swallowing him back down. It was like he was starving, had been starving for so long, and now that he’d been permitted to feast he simply couldn’t get enough. 

Quentin’s legs began to tremble. “I’m gonna come,” he blurted out, punctuating his words with a moan. He didn’t want this to be over. It had only just begun. If he could just hold out one more blissful second, he told himself, perhaps they could live in this pleasure forever. If only he could—

Quentin’s cock pulsed in Eliot’s mouth and he came with a broken cry. He held onto Eliot for dear life, because this was his life. This was his life now. Nothing had ever felt more beautiful. He could hardly believe it. His orgasm swelled in his veins like a symphony, rippling through his body in waves, each more tremendous than the last.

The air around them seemed to pulse with magic. Quentin wondered if it was the cologne shifting again, or maybe it was them this time. The two of them creating something wild and frantic and pure. Quentin’s orgasm peaked and fell away, running like a stream back to its source. Eliot let Quentin’s softening cock slip from his mouth with a happy sound, and Quentin sank down slowly to the floor, entirely boneless.

Eliot licked at his lips, like he was trying to make sure he hadn’t missed a single drop. His erection was tenting the front of his pants and Quentin wanted to reach for him, but the whole of him was so limp and drained and sated he could hardly think to move his arms.

“I wanna take care of you now,” he said, a dopey smile on his lips. “Just as soon as I can move.”

Eliot laughed and leaned in to press a kiss to Quentin’s forehead. “We have all the time in the world, sweetheart. All the time now that we could ever want.”

Quentin’s chest swelled with nameless emotions, feelings that he couldn’t place. Shapeless things. Things that took the shape of love. A language only the heart could understand. Choking back tears, he said, “Thank you for my gift. It does smell really fucking magical.”

Eliot laughed and sprawled out on the floor next to Quentin. “Will you wear it for me everyday?”

Quentin shut his eyes and smiled wide. “Only if you promise to blow me just like that everyday for the rest of our lives.” 

Eliot sighed, a happy little sound. “It’s a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Quentin. You're 27 and alive and that's pretty fucking rad my dude.


End file.
